Touched Unpredictably
by allroadslead2coffee
Summary: Ambassador Spock had no idea that the memories he shared with the new Jim Kirk would become part of a psychological vortex in the young Kirk's, mind when his birthday arrives and reopens a lifetime worth of emotional wounds.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

* * *

It was one thing to be told, as a child, that his father had died in the line of duty while serving on a Federation Starship in space.

It was another thing to come "face-to-face" with the very person who had killed his father, and left the woman who loved him, Jim's own mother, just barely half alive.

The very fabric of space itself was ripping open in a maelstrom of lightning-like discharges of energy around a hole between now and the future.

The Narada was emerging from that hole, and the ship that Jim's father was in was up ahead of him, right on a collision course for the Romulan ship that wouldn't be built for nearly two centuries.

Both the Kelvin and the Romulan ship were too close to put the Enterprise into warp drive in order to close the distance and give his father a fighting chance.

He saw the Kelvin being bombarded by the alien's advanced energy torpeodos, and plunging out of space, back to the earth that it had been born from.

As Jim watched, it obliterated itself in a fiery billow against the atmosphere, its explosion seemed to sink into the very planet below it and start to pull the expanse of Earth around and into itself.

_Because of me, Jim!_

Jim Kirk had woken from nightmares like this one only to have Bones's disembodied voice ask if he was alright (because he'd recieved an auto alert that there had been a human scream registered by the computer in his room).

This time, when he did wake, he heard his own voice at the very end of a half-moan-half-whimper.

He froze, and waited for his friend's voice to break into the silence. To his relief (and repressed disappointment), McCoy's disembodied voice didn't make an appearance.

With his fingers still clutching at his head, he waited until he was sure there would be no check done on him over the intercom.

It was annoying and embarrassing that the computer was programmed to alert sickbay if he screamed in his sleep. It would, however, truly SUCK if the people in sickbay were alerted every time he moaned or, the heavens forbid, anytime he whimpered.

Sometimes, though, a suspicion floated in the backmost part of his mind that they probably did, but just didn't let it be known. He'd decided that if they weren't going to offer the information, he wasn't going to ask.

The pain finally registered. Where his fingertips were at his forehead, several points began throbbing under a slight burning sensation.

Finally regaining his senses enough to pull his hands away from his head, he quickly glanced at the tips of his fingers. "Lights," he stated with dull resolve in his voice when he realized that it was too dark in the room for him to see. After the computer registered his order and complied, he still couldn't see. "--ow?" He waited for a few beats to see if someone in sickbay would give up their secret. Nope.

His eyelids had quickly clenched shut on reflex at the assailing brightness. After a couple of moments, he blinked experimentally and aimed his pupils at the area that would be where his fingernails were. "Lovely," he murmured sarcastically when he saw reddish darkness where opaque ivory should have been.

Jim slid his legs over one side of the bed and used their inertia to lurch the upper part of his body into a sitting position. Another heavy sigh and he shuffled oh-so enthusiastically to the bathroom to see what sort of damage he was going to have to explain to Bones.

Kirk didn't find out until just before he officially moved into his new Captain's quarters aboard the Enterprise: Starship crewmembers were obligated to log any minor wounds that were treated with personal issued First Aid supplies. It was a precautionary means of tracking down possible causes of infection complications out in space without bogging down the medical staff.

After wiping away the fine layer of already congealed blood on the rather wide (and deep) scratches on his forehead and swabbing them thoroughly with antiseptic, he took the First Aid injury log sheet out of the pack and wrote down, SCRATCHED FOREHEAD WITH FINGERNAILS. It was truthful enough. He'd actually managed to dig his fingernails down into his skin before raking the surface below the gouges about a half-inch down.

He tried to look on the "bright side" while he was in the turbolift on the way to the Bridge.

At least the people on the Bridge with him would have their backs turned to him for nearly most of the time, and even if, say Chekov or Sulu turned around to face him while they said something to him, they would be far enough away not to really see the scratches.

That thought made him realize how tense he was, because he'd relaxed with relief and noticed how taught his muscles had been while he was standing in the turbolift.

As fate would have it, Uhura and Spock got onto the lift at a deck before the Bridge. Uhura entered first, her head blocking his forehead from Spock's view, before Spock quickly took his place alongside of her, safely faced the same direction as Jim. The two had both nodded respectfully to him, but Uhura caught an unusual expression on Kirk's face, and looked up at him without hesitation.

"Captain, what happened to your forehead?" his Chief Communications Officer blurted out with suddenly wide eyes.

Spock's head seemed to snap in the Captain's direction.

Jim slid the lower part of his jaw slightly to the left, but continued to keep his eyes focused forward and down at the bottom part of the turbolift. He looked as if he were trying to decide exactly what to say, and then inhaled deeply, as if to signal that he'd made his decision. "Well, I was under my bed, and I forgot about the--"

Uhura blinked, as if suddenly knowing she was in the process of regretting her question, and cut him off, just as he'd hoped. "That's alright, never mind. It's none of my business anyway." She faced forward again, with a veiled expression that seemed to read, I should have guessed it would be something childishly ridiculous with James T. Kirk, Captain notwithstanding.

"Y'sure?" He asked with a strange brightness in his eyes. "It's actually sort of a funny story, in a slightly weird way." His expression suggested hopefulness that she would change her mind and let him finish the story he seemed to be ready to tell.

After all that had happened, and learning that Kirk's father had been killed by the same maniac who'd wiped out Spock's entire planet, she didn't want to exhibit the same attitude toward him as she had when they were in the academy. Not right now, anyway. Looking straight ahead, but with a warm smile, she told him, "I'm fine without it."

Despite the fact that he was feeling equally elated and saddened that he could so easily trick two of his closest coworkers into not being interested in his injuries, he was warmed by Uhura's attempt at joking with him. He wanted to repeat his original response to that by-gone statement, but was afraid that Spock would interpret it as an act of flirtation. "Understood," he finally chose to say.

The door slid open, and they all took their respective places.

Uhura had just barely enough time to realize that it was four years ago to the day that she had met Jim Kirk, when she found a visual message from Dr. McCoy waiting for her at her station.

HOW DOES JIM SEEM THIS MORNING? –LEONARD

Uhura glanced at her captain covertly, and then, just as covertly, entered a reply. QUIET. SCRATCHES ON FOREHEAD. Before sending it, she considered, then added. WHY?

A few seconds later, she got a reply.

BIRTHDAY. HOW OFTEN IS HE SCRATCHING FOREHEAD?

Nyota felt like a photon torpedo had just gone through her chest. Again, she remembered her first meeting with Jim Kirk. He'd been drunk, and she'd wondered why someone as smart, and she had to admit, attractive looking as him would put himself in that condition.

NO. HAS SCRATCH MARKS ON FOREHEAD. NOT SERIOUS. She sent back to McCoy.

She replayed key memories between her first encounter with Jim Kirk, and now.

When she was allowed to return to that particular bar again where she'd met him, the bartender had asked if Jim Kirk was actually in Startfleet Academy. When she reluctantly told him that, yes, he was, for now, the bartender made an odd comment about wondering if Kirk was going to keep getting pissed the same time each year.

She decided, after thinking about it, to add. SHOULD WORRY MORE ABOUT AFTER HE'S DONE WITH SHIFT.

McCoy's quick answer to that only made her feel more like a self righteous schmuck. I SECOND THAT MOTION. TWICE.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

Kirk unexpectedly found himself swept into one of those moments where he was suddenly realizing something that he knew, but hadn't consciously thought about before.

Already, he'd become so use to looking at Sulu and Chekov's back, absent-mindedly noticing when they accessed the different readouts of information that their jobs required them to check periodically throughout their shifts.

In the beginning, they both seemed to force their alertness and focus, going through steps confidently, but cautiously.

Maybe it was at the end of a full week, Kirk noticed that they both looked as though they were thinking about other things while they checked readings and made adjustments almost automatically. Their bodies and the expressions he caught glimpses of from time to time were more relaxed. They were operating by feel, rather than recall.

Something was different now, though. They were both still going through tasks automatically, but there was a tension in them that reminded him of the first couple of days.

An alarm went off in his mind when Chekov's head turned to the left and he found himself caught in the act of stealing a glance at his captain. As if attempting to throw off any suspicion, he twitched the corners of his mouth in a polite smile, and then turned his attention back to his console with visibly forced casualness.

Kirk would have written it off as a moment of boredom that the navigator had gotten caught succumbing to, except for the fact that Sulu's head twitched in Chekov's direction. Another alarm went off when he caught the intensely disapproving glance that Sulu gave Chekov.

Chekov seemed to shrink, ever so slightly, in his chair after his head turned, almost imperceptibly, in Sulu's direction.

Kirk couldn't make sense of this odd scene. Things had become monotonous before, and he'd gotten across that he wasn't opposed to intermittent diversions from their stations, so long as they were short enough.

He could recognize that Chekov was struggling with the urge to fidget--and Sulu was struggling with the urge to...reprimand him?

"Is there a problem, Mr. Chekov?" Kirk had decided to ask the question without straightening in his seat as he initially intended to.

It rather amazed Kirk that he could pick up on the strange stillness that overcame Chekov just before he turned to face him. It had lasted maybe all of two seconds.

"No, sir." Chekov answered with a directness that seemed forced.

If it was actually possible for a person to growl without making a sound, that was just what Kirk's thought Sulu was doing. "Mr. Sulu?" He used the tone of his voice to request a confirmation.

Sulu turned, with the slightest amount of movement as possible to look at Kirk respectfully. "No, sir." He turned back to his console, noticeably avoiding looking at Chekov as he did so.

Chekov hadn't turned back around. His eyes were cast downward to some unmarked spot on the deck, and his mind seemed to be making calculations...or weighing options?

"Is there something you wanted to say, Mr. Chekov?" Kirk saw Sulu's head turn just a fraction of a degree in Chekov's direction, and he thought he somehow sensed that the ship's pilot had just fixed a him with a covert stare of warning.

"No..." Chekov said before looking up at the captain again. His expression openly told him that he was making his mind up about something, and then he met his eyes once again. He seemed to be searching Kirk's face for something, some sort of clue as to what to say or whether or not to say anything. His attention darted for a split second to the side of Kirk's head, and quickly back to his face. "Not right now." He finally stated with an odd look of determination, but seemed to be searching, again, for some sort of unnamed sign.

Kirk turned his head with intentional slowness, until he was looking at Uhura. She answered his gaze with a 'Can I help you, captain?' expression. His expression replied 'What makes you think I need any help?'.

Sulu gave birth then, to a half-breed sigh-huff. A sighff? Suff? Highff?

The hell??? Kirk snapped his head around to fix on Sulu, who was concentrating on his console... and radiating annoyance.

Chekov was looking at Sulu, with another expression of trying to make up his mind. Again, he turned to search Kirk's face.

Sulu was almost never grumpy, or coercive. Chekov was never intimidated by Sulu; Sulu had never given him reason to be. And Uhura was never voluntarily helpful, unless it promised to bring Kirk's ego down whatever fraction of a notch it offered.

What did Chekov want to say, that Sulu didn't want him to say, and that Uhura was acting like she had no clue-or interest...

The turbolift doors swished open and deposited one serene, unexpected, Chief Medical Officer, with his morning coffee.

The doctor walked right in, as if it were his regular routine, and parked himself right next to Jim's chair. He nodded courteously to Jim.

Jim stared up at him questioningly.

McCoy raised his eyebrows slightly, with an innocent look that said, 'yes, Jim? You wanted to ask me something?'

Jim glance around at each member of the current bridge crew, and fixed his gaze on Uhura, who was conspicuously looking as though she wanted to appear inconspicuous.

He tilted his head back to give the doctor a cheerfully threatening grin. "Bones..." _talk or I'll...permanently fuse your body to Spock's, _he added in his head.

"Yes, Jim?" Leonard basked in the fact that the divorce he'd gone through made him immune to any of Jim's threats, with the exception of dying in front of his eyes, of course.

"What brings you here?" Stark fear suddenly replaced the preditorial menace in his eyes. Oh, God. He wouldn't.

Leonard caught the change, and saw the color in his captain's face go pale with true fear. He'd become old friends with this kind of thing, and was seasoned in the art of communicating with it. His expression didn't waver, but he did change his plans...slightly. He handed Kirk the thermal cup of coffee that he'd come in with, but hadn't taken a drink of.

Kirk took it, sensing that doing so would result in things going much easier on him. "Thank you," he said with quiet uneasiness.

The doctor didn't like the strange variety of emotions that he saw behind his friend's eyes. He was having none of this, especially not on a friend's birthday. He refreshed the perk in his smile a bit, clasped his now completely free hands behind his back, and rocked forward, once, on his toes. "I just thought I'd come up for a visit, bring you a little touch of Southern hospitality," he brought his right hand forward again to wave at the coffee Jim was now holding, "--and wish you...Good _MOR_ning..._CAP_-tain." The way he said the last three words of his statement sounded just shy--JUST shy--of singing them to the first line of a suspiciously familiar tune.

Captain James T. Kirk's eyebrows flinched downward and slightly closer together, his eyes climbed carefully to meet the CMO's, with a look that he would have given him if he'd been diagnosed with prostate cancer. Hardly a beat after fixing an outraged stare at the gleefully smug doctor--

"Good _MOR_ning..._CAP_tain." Uhura's voice came from behind him...JUST shy of singing the second line of said suspicious tune.

Kirk's head snapped to face in her direction, only to snap immediate to look at Chekov the moment he heard the young man whirl around in his chair and join his voice in the 'almostbutnotreally-singing Happy Birthday' conspiracy, "Good _MOR_ning, -- _CAP_tain!"

What could he do? He'd taken on inexplicibly vengeful Romulans that outmatched him many times over with a moon-sized ship and advanced technology. That single, recent encounter had given him layers of combative experience, that was rendered additionally useless now. He couldn't even bring himself to do so much as glare sternly at the sincerely thoughtful young navigator, who beamed directly at him enthusiastically, and made him feel instantly...tanner.

Fortunately, Chekov was unable to resist turning to give Sulu a smug glance, which evolved into an urgent, albeit, silent admonition to be a part of the...whatever, and finalize the not-song.

Sulu sat motionless and stared deadpan at Chekov for just the right about of seconds, turned to look back at Kirk with an expression that seemed to say 'bro, I'm there for ya." With that, Sulu turned forward, and crossed his arms in front of his chest stubbornly.

"Good _mor_ning, _cap_tain." The unexpected voice made Jim blood turn to ice in his veins.

Had Spock _meant_ to say those words so that they sounded like he'd completed the final line? He looked at Bones. The man was actually looking at Spock with unrestrained approval.

Spock looked at Dr. McCoy as if he had no idea why the doctor was looking at him the way he was.

That sealed it.

"You two are no longer allowed to be in the same room together, unless there's a medical reason," Kirk announced sternly, "One of you has to leave." He initiated immediate evasive maneuvers and turned to look at the star-filled screen.

Both the doctor and the the Chief Science officer looked down at the captain from either side of him, almost mirroring each others stunned expression.


End file.
